


Tick Talk

by Control_Room



Category: The Medium (Video Game)
Genre: Beating, Interrogation, Mild Language, Sadism, Thomas centric, Violence, references to cold war, references to police states, this game is so good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:54:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29165265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Control_Room/pseuds/Control_Room
Summary: Henry wants to Thomas to talk about what makes him tick.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	Tick Talk

“You know, this could stop  _ whenever _ you want it to.”

“Mhm. And why should I want it to?”

“Because otherwise…” 

Thud. 

“That will happen. Over and over.”

“G-guh… and so what?”

“Mr. Rekowicz, you’re a tough guy. A strong, smart man.”

The hammer rose and fell in the man’s hand.

“But I was just one step faster than you, wasn’t I?”

“Sure.”

“I want you to talk.”

“About what?”

“You know.”

“I don’t think I wil- GAH!”

“Ooh, might’ve knocked out a tooth there!”

Thomas felt the inside of his mouth with his tongue on instinct, mentally proving the man wrong. Though his jaw did bleed, nothing stung within, no gaps of raw and ripped gum could be found. 

His head lolled. 

Henry did not let him rest the pounding there for long, though, fingers clawing into hair and yanking his aching head back. Thomas spat the blood he gathered into his eye.

Henry let go out of reflex, stepping back with disgust written all over his face. He wiped away the red liquid with a sneer, flicking it back onto Thomas, wiping his gloved hand on his jacket. 

A swinging punch sent his head lolling once more. 

Thomas mumbled something, bound hands clenching and unclenching in futility. Henry leaned down to hear him better. 

“What was that, little pig? You going to squeal soon?”

“I said, ‘fucking sadist’.” Thomas repeated, scowling. An uppercut tore another groan from him. “Practice with your wife?”

“Oh, ho ho, really funny, wiseguy,” Henry squatted in front of him, patting his knee. “You’re much more fun.”

“So you do-- aARGH!”

“Did you bite your tongue there, Thomas?”

“Fuck off….”

“Only when I get what I want to hear.”

“We’ll be here for a long time, then. I have nothing to say. Nothing that you don’t already know.”

“I did find out one thing from you already!” Henry beamed, his hands reeking of gasoline as he drew them along Thomas’ face-- still gloved, he thought to himself with a smirk. “That there’s more than one of the little angels, aren’t there? Two, maybe three, little ones running around?”

He flicked his nose.

“So you better get to talking,” Henry smiled. Thomas gagged and once more rocked in the chair, headbutting Henry square in the nose. He stumbled and fell on his back from the disbalance, and then rose with a knee to Thomas’ chin. “You little  _ shit! _ ”

“AAH!”

“I tried to play  _ nice! _ ”

“Nngh!”

“Get  _ TALKING! _ ”

“Hnah-AH!”

Henry panted as he tried to pull himself together, rage pouring out of every pore. 

He ran a hand through his hair, looking down at Thomas’ curled up body. 

It was amazing to think that someone so powerful could be so… vulnerable. So weak. So… close.

The thought alone was enough to reinvigorate him. Henry leaned against the wall and took out his pack of cigarettes, lighting one. Thomas looked up at him wearily, the cut under his eye steadily dripping down his face, the wound already festering. 

“You know what would happen if I drop this little thing?” Henry asked, swirling around the cancer stick, making smoke trail after his steady hand. Thomas moaned in anguish, curling in on himself once more. “Onto these patches of gas?”

“God, please, no,” he whispered. “No….”

“You do know, Mr. Rekowicz. You know…” Henry squatted next to him as well, glad to see the man’s sharp gaze fixated on the glowing cinder dangling precariously from his fingertips. “So well.”

Thomas could say nothing. He stared at the embers, lips open and letting air flow. Everything ached and hurt. 

“Will you talk?”

“I don’t know what you want to hear.”

“Thomas, Thomas, stop playing dumb,” Henry crooned, pulling his head back once more via his hair, holding his neck exposed. The man flinched and yelped and tried to escape from his grasp as the cigarette pressed to the gash on his cheek. Henry watched with awe as the man conquered his pain and pressed back against it, putting it out on his own skin. “You are a strong man….”

“Yeah, and? It’s not helping me, is it? It hasn’t helped me, has it?” Thomas spat back. The poor man seemed absolutely exhausted, even as he mustered his soul and straightened his back. “God gives strength and weakness. God gives smarts and stupidity. We are all equal in the Supreme’s eyes.”

“However,” Henry cut him off, bored of his turn to religion in desperation. “ _ You _ are special. And I want to know why. The ‘Supreme’ gave you something that the rest of us don’t have, a  _ gift _ , and I want to know why, Thomas. Was it seeing your parents die in front of you? Was it radiation? Or was it something else entirely… comrade?”

“Gift,” Thomas snorted, shivering as adrenaline went unspent. “More like a curse. I never would have asked for it.”

“Ooh, but you have it,” Henry circled around him. “You have it now, and I want to know  _ why _ .”

“I don’t know,” Thomas gritted out. “I don’t know. Will you let me go, now?”

“No, I can’t.” Henry sighed, pulling up another chair and sitting behind him, running a hand through his hair and gripping again, pulling back. He took out his knife and began drawing patterns on the neck that he could not see. “You see Thomas, it took me a long time to get my hands on you. A long, long time. I’ve been waiting for an opportunity like this for ages.”

He could feel the man’s pulse through the knife. 

“To learn what makes you tick.”

It was both calm and ferocious.

“To tear you apart.”

Just like the man before him.

He slammed him forward again, drawing away the knife just in time, nicking a mark along his throat.

“So get to it.” 

Thomas watched as polished shoes came into his vision once more, and a groan slipped from his throat as he desperately tried not to think of what the agent would do.

“Talk.”


End file.
